


Make Your Own Kind Of Music

by roelliej



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Canonical Character Death, Community: hprarefest, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Insecurity, Language, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rating: NC17, Romance, Snark, hprarefest2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 10:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11438583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roelliej/pseuds/roelliej
Summary: It started with an accidental bout of hand-holding. Ron's just helping Harry through his grief... right?





	Make Your Own Kind Of Music

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my_thestral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/gifts).



> Much thanks to my friend DS for the beta-check! It couldn't have done it withour your suggestions and support. <3

**Breakfast**  
  
Harry smiled at Mrs Weasley, who attempted to stuff another serving of bacon and eggs into his mouth, even when his first portion was still lying on his plate, unspoiled.  
  
"You should eat, dear," she said, pinching Harry’s cheek as she waved a fatty piece of bacon in front of his eyes in a  _here comes the little aeroplane-way_. "You look way too peaky. You need your strength, Harry."  
  
There it was again. Harry Potter needs his strength. Harry Potter has to be strong all the fucking time. That’s what’s expected from Harry Potter, the figurehead of the Wizarding World, the anchor of the free people, the Boy Who Defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. He was slowly turning into some sort of deity and he hated it. It made his stomach turn...  
  
"Bathroom," Harry barely choked out, both hands covering his mouth as he sprinted towards the nearest toilet to relieve himself of the breakfast he never had.  
  


~*~

  
  
Harry tried to adjust his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. His image mirrored the way he felt—dark bags decorated his eyes in an unflattering way and his cheekbones stuck out, because of his declining appetite—and his stomach kept playing up. Harry took some water from the sink and splashed it into his face. His hair looked even more horrible than before. Maybe he just needed to shave it off. Bald was very much in fashion. Kingsley, for example, couldn’t go outdoors without countless witches waiting to persuade him for a night of pleasure. Not that Harry  _wanted_  that kind of entertainment, but a little happiness would be very welcome.  
  
"Harry, why do you keep doing that? It’s fucking pointless."  
  
A small smile appeared on Harry’s lips as he saw Ron stepping into the bathroom, looking like he had been shagged by an entire choir. His long, ginger hair was a bit greasy and the man really needed a shave. He was pointing at Harry’s tousled, soaked hair with a smile on his face. "I know, mate. It’s just a habit."  
  
"A habit you’re never giving up," Ron smirked, grabbing his razor as he looked at himself in the mirror. Then his eyes met Harry’s. "You’re doing great, mate," Ron added seriously, waving his wand and the razor started to shave his stubble.  
  
"Am I?" Harry said, finally ceasing his attempts to keep his mane in check and proceeding to fidget with his tie. His neck wasn’t made for ties. It felt like putting on a noose.  
  
"Yes, definitely," Ron said, carefully putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as his other hand pointed to a spot the razor had missed. He was rewarded with a nasty scratch. Ron glared at it, but a faint zooming was heard, as if the razor was laughing. "It takes balls to do what you do, Harry."  
  
"But who am I, Ron?" Harry sighed, tying a double Windsor in his tie. "Am I Harry James Potter, a skinny yet handsome bloke, or will I always be that boy with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead?"  
  
"Both, I guess," Ron said smiling, as he carefully dabbed a bit of blood from his chin. "I know it’s been hard for you, but Mione and I will make sure you don’t crush under the pressure the Ministry is placing on your shoulders. We’re walking the same road, mate. We’ll always be  _the Trio_."  
  
"How can you keep yourself from falling apart, after all the shit we’ve been through?" Harry said, a tad bewildered. "Sometimes I don’t even know when I’m awake or asleep. How do you hold on?"  
  
"With the help of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky," Ron joked. His smile faltered when Harry didn’t laugh. "I have you by my side," Ron added softly as he started to blush. Harry flushed as he smiled shyly. "And like I said before: I’m here for you, no matter how fucked up life can be sometimes."  
  
"Thanks, Ron," Harry whispered, laying his hand on Ron’s for a moment. "It means a lot to me. I never told you, but Hermione and you, you are my—anchors. And I lo..."  
  
"Are you ready?" Ron interrupted a bit rudely, obviously trying to avoid an uncomfortable situation. Harry understood and pulled himself together—again.  
  
"No," Harry said honestly. "I think I’ll never be. But I’ll try anyway."

  
  
*

  
  
_"We’re here today to remember Lavender Brown..."_

  
  
*

  
  
_"Remus Lupin was brave till the end..."_

  
  
*

  
  
_"Even now she wouldn’t like to be called Nymphadora..."_

  
  
*

  
  
_"Colin was way too young to die in that terrible car crash..."_

  
  
*

  
  
Harry left his coat on as he stepped into the kitchen of the Burrow, followed by the other members of the Weasley family. He wasn’t sure if he belonged here. Harry saw George slipping away towards his room. He did that more often these days. Harry knew how he felt. To be a part of something bigger...  
  
"It was a beautiful service, don’t you agree, Arthur?" Mrs Weasley said, wiping her eyes dry with a handkerchief as her husband nodded sadly. "Andromeda’s speech was stunning, and so was yours, Harry, dear. But Teddy looked so..."  
  
"Teddy is too young to understand, sweetheart," Mr Weasley said. "And maybe it’s better that way, although it sounds a bit harsh. Losing both parents in one day..."  
  
"I think it’s time for me to go home," Harry said hoarsely, interrupting Mr Weasley. 12 Grimmauld Place would never feel like a real home, but it was better than...  
  
"No!" Ginny said firmly, her eyes teary and puffy as she faced Harry. "I know what you’re trying to do, Harry, and I won’t allow it. Stop torturing yourself, for fu—darn you."  
  
"I’m fine, Gin," Harry said, forcing a smile and catching a lone tear with his finger as it slowly left Ginny’s right eye. "There are still a lot of things for me to do, that’s all."  
  
"Harry, you should not be alone," Bill said, supporting his very pregnant wife as she tried to sit down. "You have a family here. It’s better for you to..."  
  
"Thanks, Bill," Harry said with a high-pitched voice, panic racing through his veins. He needed fresh air. He needed solitude. He needed... Harry didn’t know what the fuck he needed.  
  
"Stay," Ron said softly as he took Harry’s hand gently into his, interrupting his panic-overload. "Please."  
  
Harry felt like he had been stunned at point-blank range. Ron’s voice had been so soft; the small vibrations kept ringing pleasantly in Harry’s ears. How could he ever say no to such a request?  
  
"All right," Harry said, his eyes still focused on their intertwined hands. He could not bring himself to ignore that Ron’s touch had awoken something inside. Harry suddenly realised that life after the war was still possible, and that was a feeling Harry had not experienced for quite a while...  
  


~*~

  
  
Sleep was miles and miles away, and Harry’s eyes were fixed upon the bright orange ceiling of Ron’s bedroom. There was a peaceful silence between these walls, apart from its owner’s loud snoring. He and Ron were sharing this intimate moment, even when the redhead wasn’t conscious enough to enjoy or appreciate it.  
  
It happened before Harry could comprehend what had triggered it. Was it that short, unique moment of unspoiled peace? Or the feeling that something bad had to happen at any moment now? Harry was used to being on the run, being hunted down like a wild animal. The thrill of getting caught or being killed always triggered his instinct and a small fraction of Harry’s being had started to like this unhealthy addiction. Panic started to take over and all Harry wanted to do right now, was to run. Tears were flowing down his cheeks and all the pain of the last few months—years actually—came pouring out. Afraid to wake up his best mate, Harry tried to muffle his sobs with his blanket. It wasn’t until he felt two strong arms pulling him against a firm, furry chest, that Harry was finally able to take back control of his irregular breathing.  
  
"It’s okay, Harry," Ron whispered, still fighting against the sleep as he tried to calm down Harry with his warmth. "Let it out. You’ve been suppressing this shit for far too long, mate."  
  
"I didn’t mean to wake you," Harry mumbled between sobs, feeling extremely stupid in his overgrown pyjamas. Ron was looking much more masculine, only wearing tight, orange boxers. It made Harry swallow an extra amount of drool.  
  
"Harry, don’t be daft," Ron said softly, caressing Harry’s hair. The feeling of the redhead’s hand on his scalp sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Ron and Harry had never been the touchy-feely best mates. There had been an occasional smack on the shoulder or back and one very emotional hug by a lake, but that was that. But this embrace, this touch, was filled with something special. Maybe it was even...  
  
"Ron, please," Harry pleaded, trying to push Ron away gently, not allowing himself to give into what he was feeling right now. "I’m okay, really."  
  
"Harry, what is it?" Ron said alertly, his eyes interlocking with Harry’s. He must have felt the tightening of Harry’s muscles. "Did I do something wrong? And don’t you dare sweet-talk me into oblivion. I know your repertoire all too well."  
  
"No, absolutely not," Harry whispered, his excuses sounding so fucking lame. A gasp escaped his lips when Ron’s warm mouth unexpectedly connected with his, kissing him softly. "Ron..."  
  
Harry felt his heart pounding in his throat. Ron looked so damn sexy with his eyes closed, completely consumed by the moment. Harry followed his example and slowly opened his lips, giving Ron permission to deepen the kiss...  
  


~*~

  
  
**Lunch**  
  
"Harry, you haven’t touched your sandwich," Hermione said worriedly as she sipped from her cup of tea. She had grown into a beautiful woman, her hair no longer bushy but styled, but at times Hermione turned into that nerdy, motherly girl again from their Hogwarts years. It felt familiar. "Has anybody said to you that you’re getting fat or something?"  
  
Harry couldn’t do anything but smile. "I think that certain person would be more in need of glasses than I am. No, Hermione, I’m not on a Karen Carpenter diet. Just not hungry." The strong smell of ham made him sick. He wasn’t really in the mood for a lunch date, but he had agreed to it to make Hermione happy. And because he needed some breathing space. He loved the Weasleys very much, but their mollycoddling could be intense at moments. Not to mention being in the same room with...  
  
"I worry for you, Harry," Hermione said, while ordering another cup of tea and bringing Harry back to the conversation with a snap of her fingers. "Where are you with your thoughts? Talk to me."  
  
"Maybe I’m thinking of all my friends that got killed," Harry snapped, a sudden spurt of anger bursting out of his mouth. "The ones we had to bury in the last couple of days, remember?"  
  
"Harry, that’s not fair," Hermione whispered, tears flowing down her cheeks as she covered her face with her hand, like she was trying to shield her emotions from Harry. He bit his lip, feeling like a horrible best friend and a first class cunt. Harry loved her so much—what was he thinking?! He cursed his own mouth for speaking. He quickly stood up and pulled Hermione into an embrace, which she gladly accepted.  
  
"I didn’t mean that, Hermione," Harry whispered, on the brink of tears, too. "I didn’t mean a fucking word. Please forgive me."  
  
"Don’t be silly," she whispered into Harry’s shoulder as she tried to hold him as close as possible. "And mind the swearing, Harry. It doesn’t suit you."  
  
Harry snorted through his guilt as Hermione started to smile while pinching his nose.  
  
"I know I can be a little pushy sometimes," Hermione admitted. "And I’m well aware that I can be a tad blunt."  
  
"That’s why you’ll always be one of my best friends," Harry said hoarsely, kissing her cheek. "And thanks to you, I know what I really need now."  
  
"And what is that, if I may ask?" Hermione said, curiosity audible in her voice as she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.  
  
"I need some bluntness extraordinaire."  
  


~*~

  
  
"Well, well. The Chosen One himself stepped down from his throne to mingle with the masses. You’re the last person I would have expected, Potter."  
  
"Hello, Draco," Harry said softly as he took a seat, ignoring the expected welcome-sneer. Draco’s hair had grown shoulder-length, and the man had finally put on some much-needed weight; his pointy features had started to fill up. It made Draco look less like the Grim Reaper. The Dark Mark on his left forearm was slightly fading, but Harry noticed that Draco wasn’t wearing it like a crown anymore; instead, he tried to conceal it with well-placed jewellery. "I’m still wondering if this was such a good idea."  
  
"You came willingly," Draco said, eying Harry with curiosity as he offered him a cup of coffee. "Drink it, Potter. I haven’t spiked it. You sat down, despite the fact that I didn’t give you permission to sit. So my guess is that you needed someone to talk to, am I right?"  
  
"I suppose so," Harry shrugged, accepting the coffee while avoiding Draco’s piercing eyes and ignoring his razor sharp tongue. "How do you feel, Draco?"  
  
"I’ve been better, _Harry_ " Draco said curtly as he put a string of hair behind his ear with his hand. "But I’ll manage. Like I’ve always done."  
  
"You’ve been to Crabbe’s funeral?"  _Well done, Harry. Rake up the death of one of his few friends. Absolutely brilliant, you spectacled twat._  
  
"No, unfortunately not," Draco said, lowering his eyes and showing a hint of emotion. "His family decided to have a small, private service. And since I crossed over to the League of Extraordinary Do-Gooders, you understand that there are some Death Eaters, Vincent’s family included, who are dying to curse my arse off."  
  
"That must have been..."  
  
"Potter, if I may?" Draco sighed, his eyes flaming with impatience.  
  
"Yeah?" Harry said sheepishly, fidgeting nervously with his fingers.  
  
"You’re absolutely  _horrible_  at small talk," Draco said effectively, forcing Harry to look him in the eye. "And not to mention your natural inaptitude for Occlumensy. I don’t even need my wand to read your mind, Potter. What has Weasley been up to now?"  
  
"But how...?" Harry began, completely flabbergasted. Was it  _that_  obvious that he and Ron...  
  
"Potter," Draco sighed with the grandeur of a professional stage actor. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. It has always been your fatal flaw, and, I have to admit, your greatest strength."  
  
"Thank you," Harry said hesitantly, a bit taken aback by getting a compliment from Draco. A compliment Malfoy-style, but still. "Ron and I..."  
  
"Wait a minute," Draco exclaimed, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "Ron—as in the one that tried to curse me and ended up barfing up slugs? Are you going to tell me that the Saviour loves cock?"  
  
"Lower your voice, you daft cretin!" Harry hissed, his intestines screaming in panic. "You just said..."  
  
"I thought you and the Weasley wench were together," Draco said, smiling broadly and rubbing his hands. "Salazar, you keep surprising me, Potter."  
  
"Are you done, Malfoy?" Harry said, cursing himself for blushing like a flapper. He should have known that Malfoy would take the mickey out of him. What was he thinking? "I didn’t come here to be mocked by you."  
  
"Come on, Potter," Draco said, still trying to suppress a snort."Even  _you_  have to admit it’s quite hilarious."  
  
"Hardy har har," Harry sneered, his cheeks crimson with humiliation. "I think it’s best for me to leave."  
  
"Grow some balls and stay put, Potter," Draco said sharply as he pushed Harry back onto his seat. Harry realised how strong Draco actually was despite his skinny build."You came here, because you needed someone who would tell you the truth, no matter how blunt it might sound. Someone who doesn’t care about your petty little feelings, unlike your BFF’s Granger and Weaselby. In other words: someone like me."  
  
Harry sighed as he took a sip from his coffee, defeated. Draco had always been an arsehole, but at least he was an honest one.  
  
"Regardless of what you may think of me, I’m not homophobic, Potter," Draco continued. "And  _do_  spare me the eye-rolling. I’m talking about  _you_  being a shirt-lifter: front-page-boy who makes every teenage girl’s dream wet. I should have expected it, since you kept following me around during our sixth year. Was it the hair, Potter? Please tell me it was because of my styled, blond hair. Wait, wait, I really have to know this. Be honest, Potter. Have you ever flogged the bishop, while thinking about me? Came all over your chest, squealing like a nancy boy while fantasising about me on my knees, sucking..."  
  
"Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy!" Harry snarled, blushing again. "I was obsessed with your sneaky schemes, not your arse! And for your information, I have  _never_ —masturbated with you in my thoughts. Filthy pervert!"  
  
"You keep telling yourself pathetic lies, Potter," Draco said, his lips curling into a smile. "Although I’d love to proceed our sneer-fest, time is working against us. Tell me what’s  _really_ bothering you."  
  
"I must be crazy telling you this," Harry said, the knot in his stomach painfully tightening. "Ron and I... We—er..."  
  
"You and Weasley did some kissy-kissy tongue-tongue and maybe a little rub-rub," Draco added, still smiling. "The thought alone forces my body to throw my dinner up, but good for you, Potter. And...?"  
  
"He hasn’t spoken to me since," Harry said, swallowing audibly.  
  
"Were you  _that_  bad?" Draco teased. "Sit down, Potter! You know what day it is tomorrow, don’t you?"  
  
"Of course I do!" Harry snapped. "How do you know that by the way?"  
  
"I  _do_  read papers, Potter," Draco said sharply. "And what do think it will do to him?"  
  
"But...—He never talks about it."  
  
"For God’s sake, Potter!" Draco said impatiently. "He’s a bloke. He’s  _British_! I really need to spell this out for you, do I? Weasley found out that he’s in love with you; his best mate. That’s not something one can swallow down in a couple of minutes, pun intended. Combine that with all the emotional stress of late. It’s too much for him, Potter. And believe it or not, I actually feel for him."  
  
"What should I do?"  
  
"Nothing," Draco said.  
  
"Nothing?" Harry whispered.  
  
"Nothing," Draco repeated firmly. "The one thing Weasley needs, is time. Love and mourning can’t be forced, Potter. You of all people should know that."  
  
"So all I have to do, is wait?" Harry said disbelievingly.  
  
"If you love him, that’s a small price to pay. You  _do_  love him, don’t you?"  
  
"With all my heart and soul," Harry said sincerely. He had never loved anybody so intensely that it hurt sometimes. Love worked in mysterious ways. Harry would never fully understand it. But what he felt for Ron was real and precious.  
  
"I believe you, Potter," Draco said, and Harry noticed a hint of kindness in his former nemesis’s voice. Maybe there was hope for Draco after all. "Then do as I say, and maybe, with Salazar’s grace, you’ll find some form of happiness."  
  
"Gentlemen, time’s up."  
  
"Thanks, Draco," Harry said, feeling a bit uneasy. "It was a—refreshing talk."  
  
"Yeah," Draco said as he stood up. "You can say that again, Potter."  
  
Harry quickly shook Draco’s outstretched hand, shot a dark glance towards the nervous guard and without looking back, made his way to the exit.  
  
"Potter?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Pay me a visit when you’re in the neighbourhood. It—gets lonely in here sometimes." Draco smiled at him, and Harry felt truly sorry for him. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be here after all...  
  
"I will, Draco," Harry said as the warden guided Draco back to his cell. "I promise."  
  


~*~

  
  
**Dinner**  
  
Harry stared at the French beans lying on his plate as they were drowning in the thick gravy. He poked at the overcooked steak with his fork, as if he was trying to see if there was still life in it. At least Harry was spared of comments regarding his total lack of hunger or his table manners.  
  
The harsh silence in the Weasley kitchen was as solid as a brick wall. George was still in his room, and the other Weasleys were consumed by their own thoughts, staring into the nothingness. Harry noticed Ron looking at him, but when their eyes accidentally met, Ron turned his attention back to his untouched steak.  
  
It had been a week since their pleasurable moment of intimacy. Both boys hadn’t spoken to each other ever since. Harry had tried to follow Draco’s advice, but it was hard when your best mate refused to be in the same room. So Harry had tried to corner Ron one night in the kitchen to force him to open his mouth. Charlie had interrupted them, walking into the kitchen with Ernie Macmillan, his clingy new boyfriend, probably looking for a place to make out or something. The last thing Harry saw before Ron made his escape, were tears flowing down his freckled cheeks. Harry could still feel the sting in his chest.  
  
"I think it’s time to clear the table," Mrs Weasley said with a dreary voice. Her hand trembled non-stop as she waved her wand. "I’ll do the dishes after—after..."  
  
And then she began to cry. Harry understood perfectly.  
  


~*~

  
  
The last beams of the summer sun disappeared behind the clouds of an invading evening. It had been a hot day and the refreshing breeze was welcomed by Harry. The clothes under his dress robes were sticking to his body and the weight on his right shoulder was murdering. George couldn’t do it. It had hit him the hardest and the poor bloke’s suffering was heartbreaking. So George had asked Harry. He couldn’t deny that there had been doubts festering in Harry’s chest—it would put him in the limelight yet again, the spot he hated deeply. Rita Skeeter would probably proclaim that she had been right after all: Harry Potter was a fame-seeking demigod—but he did it nonetheless. Because of him.  
  
Harry tried to concentrate on something else than the nagging pain in his arm. He looked around and felt a surge of emotion moving through his body. Alongside the path leading to the top of the grass-covered hill there were numerous people paying their respects while holding a burning torch in hand. It would have been beautiful, if it wasn’t for the sorrowful reason they were there. Seamus and Dean were holding hands as they both nodded, their eyes watery and swollen. There was Luna and her father, both wearing a Deathly Hallows necklace, as if they were trying to say that death was nothing more than the next great adventure. Neville was holding the sword of Gryffindor in his hand and saluted stately as the procession went by. George’s old teammates, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Oliver Wood were wearing their Quidditch attire; it’s what he would have wanted. Lee Jordan looked like he was broken at the core, tears flowing down his cheeks as Dennis Creevey tried to comfort him, jumping up and down to reach Lee’s shoulder. Several teachers from Hogwarts...  
  
Harry couldn’t take it anymore. The emotions started to overwhelm him and he needed to keep a clear head for the Weasleys, so he focused on the destination of their walk instead.  
  
Ron was walking in front of him, and Harry noticed his shoulders shaking. Seeing Ron that broken was unbearable and Harry needed all his willpower to not abandon his task and take the redhead in his arms, hugging him until all the sorrow and pain were gone.  
  
"I’m here, mate," Harry whispered against Ron’s back. "Always."  
  
Ron didn’t respond, but Harry noticed his ears reddening. His shoulders trembled a bit less than before...  
  


~*~

  
  
"Ron, it’s your turn," Mr Weasley whispered hoarsely, gently laying a hand on his son’s shoulder. Harry noticed that all eyes were fixed upon the youngest Weasley son. Ron looked like he just got woken up by the alarm clock, his wet eyes in a state of panic, and his face pale and grim.  
  
"Yeah, of course," Ron mumbled apologetically, appearing confused as he took a piece of paper out of his inside pocket. He walked to the wooden speaker’s stand and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth, but closed it again as his eyes fell upon the colourful, flower-covered coffin standing on his right.  
  
"Get a grip, Ron," Ron whispered to himself. "You can’t fail. Not today." He looked at the large crowd and swallowed, trying to overcome his anxiety. Beads of sweat started to form under his nose, on his forehead, under his armpits. Ron’s hands started to tremble, his heart beating at a fast rate.  
  
_They’re all going to laugh at you! They’re all going to laugh at you!_  
  
The redhead heard coughing and whispers coming from the people standing before him. They were expecting a rousing speech, and Ron was performing poorly.  
  
_Always a loser. Always the least loved._  
  
The words were written on the piece of paper lying in front of him, the words were imprinted in his mind. Why the fuck did his mouth refuse to form them, so Ron could speak? So this torture would finally end.  
  
_Weasley can’t save a thing..._  
  
His eyes travelled back to the coffin, and Ron realised he was failing his brother. Fred died a hero’s death, still smiling when that horrible curse ended his life. It was like Fred was giving Captain Nose Job the finger as a last act of defiance. What had Ron ever done right in his life? He  _left_  his friends behind when they needed him the most, that’s what he had done! Harry and Hermione could have been killed. Could Ron have lived with that shame?  
  
_We were better without you! Happier without you!_  
  
What a coward he was! A fucking, goddamn chicken, who couldn’t even pay respect to his brother. Despite Fred’s being partly responsible for his arachnophobia, despite all the teasing he had to endure during his childhood, Ron had deeply loved Fred. He’d never had the guts to say it out loud.  
  
_You’re a fucking joke! You shouldn’t have been born!_  
  
Ron couldn’t even express his love for Harry. Even now, when he needed Harry so much, Ron refused to confess it.  
  
_You mean nothing to him. You are nothing. Nothing compared to him._  
  
He became aware of the soft ticking of his watch. His mouth became dry and the shaking worsened. Voices of doubt began talking to him, ringing through his head.  
  
_You can’t do it, Ronald Weasley. You’re a pathetic loser. A repressed, insensitive bastard, who can’t accept the truth. You are destined to be alone. To die alone. Harry doesn’t want you. He only kissed you, because he pities you. Harry despises..._  
  
Then his hand was engulfed by warmth. Ron turned his head and saw Harry standing next to him, firmly holding his hand.  
  
"I can’t do it," Ron muttered, his voice thick with grief and self-loathing. "Harry..."  
  
"You can," Harry said softly, putting his other arm around Ron’s shoulders. "I believe in you, Ron."  
  
"Help me," Ron pleaded in a raspy voice as his eyes filled with tears.  
  
"I’ll stay by your side, Ron," Harry said, visibly touched. "Until the end."  
  


~*~

  
  
**Dessert**  
  
"Where’s Harry?" Ron asked as Hermione walked by, a couple of plates floating before her. The Burrow hadn’t been this full since—ever. The chattering noises were nearly driving him insane. "Slipped off again?"  
  
"I think he’s upstairs," Hermione said. "I think all these funerals have taken their toll on him."  
  
"Yeah," Ron whispered. "I know how he feels."  
  
"Oh, do you, now?" Hermione said, her eyes twinkling and her lips curling into a smile. "It’s about time."  
  
"What do you mean?" Ron said defensively. "Of course I—You’re not talking about the toll of funerals anymore, are you?"  
  
"Nope," Hermione said as she touched Ron’s cheek with her hand. "Brightest witch of my age, Ronald. You can’t fool me, my ginger friend."  
  
"How did you find out?" Ron didn’t know if he should smile or cry at this point.  
  
"I’ve probably known for ages," Hermione whispered, her tone suddenly serious. "That’s why you and me never— I noticed something in your speech for Fred. It was absolutely beautiful, Ronald, it really was. But I guess you weren’t only speaking about your brother, were you?"  
  
"No..." Ron lowered his head as a blush crept up his neck. "Harry is my best mate, and I—I don’t want to complicate things. What if he doesn’t..."  
  
"Love is never a bad thing, Ronald," Hermione said as she gently put a finger under Ron’s chin to make eye-contact. "Even on a day like this. And especially when it concerns your best mate."  
  
She kissed Ron’s cheek as she walked to the kitchen. Ron cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Hermione was right. She was right most of the time, although Ron would never admit that in front of her. She would become way too conceited, and that wasn’t good for anyone.  
  
Ron strode towards the large kitchen table standing in the middle of the living room, and began accepting condolences from people he’d never met with grace. After making sure that his mother had enough relatives around to support her, Ron cut two pieces of cake, put them on their respective plates, and walked up the stairs.  
  
"Make sure he eats it, son." Andromeda winked at him as she gently rocked Teddy to sleep. Ron blushed a bit as he smiled back at her. He couldn’t stop wondering if her eldest sister had possessed a tiny fraction of Andromeda’s goodness, would it have been enough to stop her from torturing Neville’s parents into insanity? Would she had turned into a murderous bitch? Did Bellatrix Lestrange ever feel remorse for her actions, like Ron’s mother had felt when she casted the spell that ended the life of the dark witch? It had to be done, but Ron’s mother still felt the need to visit Bellatrix’s grave, despite all the hurtful things she’d said about Fred, all the needless murders: Sirius, Dobby, Tonks, and nearly Ron’s sister. It had to be Bellatrix’s inability to love. Yes, she felt lust for He Who Must Not Be Named—Ron’s stomach turned at the thought of them fornicating—but that was nothing compared what he felt for Harry. If only he could muster the courage to tell him...  
  
Ron reached his bedroom and knocked on the door, snorting at his odd behaviour—knocking on his own door—and waited impatiently for Harry’s voice. He knocked for the second time. Still no reply. Was Harry in there? Or maybe he was asleep. Or maybe...  
  
Ron’s face became white as he saw disturbing images of Harry in his mind, lying perfectly still and... Nope, no. He didn’t even want to think about something so horrible. But there was no response, and he had to know. It was his bloody door, he should be able to open it without much ruckus! Making the plates levitate for a moment, Ron pressed at the door with his shoulders just so – and sure enough, it gave in with a soft click. Harry was indeed lying on his bed, but there wasn’t any blood… well, at least not where he expected it, not  _around_  Harry… but plenty in his swollen cock. He was naked, his eyes closed in concentration as he furiously stroked himself with both hands. Harry was huge; he was perfection in the flesh. Ron swallowed, his ears reddening and his cock nearly ripping a hole through his boxers; yet he was standing there like he was petrified, still holding the bloody cake in his hands.  
  
Ron breathed in and out and, bracing himself as he willingly crossed the line of friendship. He slowly walked to his best mate, still unaware of Ron’s presence—Harry had always been a master with Silencing Charms—and tried to open his mouth to say a cheesy, porn-movie-line. Ron knew luck wasn’t on his side often, and of course he had to trip over the one thing that was lying on the floor: Harry’s trousers. The cake flew off the plates and onto Harry’s chest and face. He opened his eyes in shock, staring at the cake covering his nubs and tasting it on his lips.  
  
"Ron!" Harry cried, trying to cover his cock with his hands, which was impossible since it was too large and too hard to bend. "Why the fuck are you bombarding me with cake?"  
  
"Why the fuck are you wanking on  _my bed_?" Ron answered smugly. He felt a tingle in his belly, close to his navel, and it slowly travelled up to his brains, erasing all the second thoughts and cowardice. "I came upstairs to shove some cake down your throat, but now it seems you’re hungry for something else."  
  
"You wanted to surprise me with cake?" Harry muttered, his cheeks deep scarlet as he obviously tried to change the subject. His cock didn’t cooperate, though; still throbbing and leaking.  
  
"Don’t feel embarrassed, Harry," Ron said softly. He noticed Harry’s discomfort and decided to back off a bit. "Mum caught me once  _teasing the weasel_. She started to scream."  _Good example, Weasley..._  
  
"And how exactly is that supposed to make me feel better, Ron?" Harry said, grimacing. "Could you please turn around, so I can make myself decent again?"  
  
Ron felt a sting of disappointment in his chest, but did as he was told. But as soon as he had turned around, a large piece of cake crashed into the side of his head, cream and strawberries splattering his face. He turned back to face Harry and saw him chuckling, while aiming for his head again.  
  
"You foul git," Ron growled as he evaded the cake and tackled Harry back onto the bed. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"Because maybe I’m hungry after all," Harry whispered, and pressed his lips onto Ron’s. A low hum escaped the redhead’s mouth as he enthusiastically answered Harry’s advances with his tongue, seeking entrance. Harry grabbed Ron’s collar and pulled him on top, kissing frantically and soiling Ron’s clothes with cake.  
  
"Fucking hell!" Ron panted, gasping for air. "If we keep this up, I’m going to come in my pants."  
  
"I don’t mind," Harry whispered into Ron’s ear, his voice husky with need. "Although I’d love to see you come onto my belly."  
  
From that moment, both boys stopped talking; nothing but sex on their minds. Ron took Harry’s cock in hand firmly and jerked him with rough, short strokes, while Harry’s hand slipped into Ron’s trousers, stroking the redhead’s throbbing flesh and making the head even wetter. Their mouths were locked together, their tongues intertwined, and cheeks flushed with animalistic lust. The world became their hands; both cocks harder than they’d ever been, and the point of no return was in sight before Ron and Harry could comprehend what was happening.  
  
Like in the corniest romantic novel, they came almost simultaneously. Harry and Ron grunted and groaned as their orgasms washed over them, slowly riding out the intensity. It could have been torture, if the feeling hadn’t been so incredibly pleasurable. Harry’s thumb kept doing miracles, massaging the head of Ron’s shaft as it spurted and spurted, while Ron’s hand kept stroking his lover’s cock as it coated Harry’s belly and chest with come. Cake mingled with semen; a unique combination.  
  
"Look at the state of my clothes, Potter," Ron said hoarsely, his heart still pounding in his throat as the aftershocks of his climax slowly diminished. "Mum will kill me."  
  
"Getting killed is so overrated..." Harry tried to joke, but realised he had made a mistake. He stroked Ron's hair and placed a kiss of reconciliation on the crown of his head. "I'm so sorry, Ron. That was heartless of me."  
  
"Don't be," Ron said, and to Harry's relief, he was smiling. "You're not heartless, pumpkin. I can still hear your heartbeat."  
  
"Did you just call me  _pumpkin_?" Harry snorted, but he blushed nonetheless.  
  
"Zip it,  _my toxic midget_ ," Ron teased, stroking Harry's nipple with his index finger. A soft groan escaped his lover's mouth. "I just need to get used to this new chapter in our friendship. You've always been my best mate. Now all of a sudden, you're my  _boyfriend_."  
  
Ron felt a shiver travelling through Harry's body. He moved a bit, so Ron could look into his best—his boyfriend's eyes. "What's wrong, Harry?"  
  
"You just called me your boyfriend," Harry said, his eyes wide with a small hint of wetness in the corners. "I—Blimey..."  
  
"You  _are_  my boyfriend, aren't you?" Ron whispered as he placed a soft kiss onto Harry's nose. "Because I'd only attempt to call someone my boyfriend when he's received the most precious gift I have to offer: my virginity."  
  
"I—I am your first?" Harry said, taken aback. "But, you're so handsome. Surely, there had to be..."  
  
"Harry James Potter, if you're trying to insinuate that I'm a slut, I shall take it as a compliment," Ron said, his voice dripping with mischief and renewed lust. "You still haven't answered my question, though."  
  
Harry smiled, feeling Ron's excitement rubbing against his rising member. "Of course I'm your boyfriend." And Harry was about to find out what that meant. It seemed like his fiery lover wasn't quite through with him yet.  
  
Ron kissed his way down south, cleaning up the leftovers of their desperate coupling. He swirled his tongue into Harry's navel, while his hands caressed the taut muscles and the soft hairs above Harry's cock.  
  
"Merlin, I'm going to lick every square inch of that cock of yours," Ron breathed, the smell of Harry's manhood intoxicating him, and increasing his arousal. Ron grabbed his lover's cock by the base and licked some pre-come from the wet head, throbbing with need. Although the redhead had never experienced the sensation of pleasuring a bloke with his mouth, Ron knew it had to be divine. It was Harry's cock he was about to suck, and Ron would make sure his boyfriend would love every second of it.  
  
"Fuck, Ron, I love you!" Harry gasped as his cock was slowly enveloped into Ron's warm and moist mouth, his tongue licking teasing trails over the swollen head, already on the brink of eruption.  
  
It was even better than Ron had hoped for. Listening to Harry's soft moans of pleasure and tasting his lover's cock, so hard and so wet for  _him_ , was nothing but perfection. The redhead bobbed his head up and down, his tongue twirling over the soaked head and simultaneously stroking the shaft with his hand, while Harry was nearly whimpering with the desperate need to come. Ron's other hand pulled down the zip of his trousers and took his own cock out, stone-hard and leaking, and started to pull.  
  
"You're big, baby," Harry breathed between gasps. "What a fat cock, just for me."  
  
Ron blushed. He never realised what a filthy mouth Harry had. The man needed to be rewarded for that. Sucking firmly and stroking with an talented hand, Ron triggered Harry's orgasm. Ron kept licking and suckling the head as his lover spurted into his mouth, accompanied with lusty groans. He had never tasted come before; it wasn't like chocolate treacle tart, but it was Harry's and it was his now.  
  
"Should I have warned you?" Harry asked as Ron licked him clean, sounding a tad insecure. "But fuck, that was so— _so_  brilliant!"  
  
"I would have to spank that dishy arse of yours if you did," Ron purred, still stroking himself. "Now, when you're back on earth again, I'd love your hands, or better, your mouth on my..."  
  
_"Do what you like, lads, but could you continue your business,_ after  _putting on a Silencing Charm?"_  
  
Both boys turned their heads in shock, while covering as much nakedness and boy-juices as possible with a blanket. George stood in the door opening, his wand in his hand.  
  
"I did you boys a favour by placing several charms so that the people downstairs couldn't interrupt your flesh-fest," George said.  
  
Ron felt a flush creeping up his neck, not only because of being caught in the act by his brother, but because Ron had suddenly realised that he had been busy making love with Harry, while they should've actually been grieving.  
  
"George, I'm so sorry," Ron said softly. "I—we didn't mean any disrespect..."  
  
"Are you mental?" George said, while a smile appeared on his lips. "Fred would have been happy for you, and so am I. That  _doesn't_  mean that I want to see this ever again, but you catch my drift."  
  
"Are you sure?" Ron said, smiling broadly. His first urge was to run to his brother to hug him, but he realised in time that he was still hard. Surely, George had seen enough of Ron's intimate parts for the rest of his life.  
  
"It's about time you two figured it out," George smirked. "It will make Mum so happy."  
  
"George..."  
  
"Enough of the emo stuff," George said as he put away his wand. "I have to go downstairs to make an entry. I'll excuse you both, so you two don't have to worry about unwanted intruders like myself. And boys? Silencing Charm. Have fun. Toodles."  
  
George closed the door behind him as Ron and Harry started to laugh.  
  
"Wow, humiliation has reached an entire new level," Harry smirked. He saw Ron's watery eyes and pulled him close. "Fred loved you, baby."  
  
"I know," Ron said as he swallowed audibly. "It makes me so happy to know that he cared for me."  
  
"And now wipe away those tears, so I can make you even more happier," Harry said hoarsely as he gently pushed Ron onto his back, lust glistering in his eyes. "Brace yourself, baby."  
  
And Ron did, safe in his bed, his lover holding his hand as he slurped and pampered. Ron smiled as he took his wand and whispered the incantation. Silencing Charms. They would come in handy for many occasions to come.  
  


~*~

  
  
"I'm fine, Mum," George said as he tried to break free from his mother. "I'm  _fine_. I just need some fresh air, that's all."  
  
"Of course, dear," his mother sobbed, still holding George's arm. "Some fresh air will do you good. Of course, Georgie."  
  
"Let him go, sweetheart," George's dad said softly, gently pulling away her arm. "You heard him, didn't you? He's fine."  
  
"Of course, Arthur. Of course."  
  
George mouthed a  _thanks_  to his father, who led his wife back to the visitors. As soon as the cool breeze caressed his face as he stepped outside the Burrow, George had forgotten about the worried faces looking at him with pity. They  _did_  mean well, but George didn't want to be pitied. He just wanted to be left alone.  
  
"Cold night, eh?"  
  
"I  _so_  needed this," George responded, closing his eyes as the wind made his hair dance. "The silence, the lack of staring eyes."  
  
"Why don't you take a holiday? You need to recharge, mate, and you need it fucking  _now_. I know what's on your mind, but Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will still run without you for a couple of weeks."  
  
"I..."  
  
"Don't sweat it, George. I completely understand that it's scary, running the shop without..."  
  
"I'm wondering if it should stay open," George said, a bit sadly. "It won't ever be the same without..."  
  
"Pull yourself together, man! That business is your lifework. Why don't you ask someone to help you? Lee would do it, you know. Or maybe Ron?"  
  
"Ron," George said, more to himself. "Ron has always loved coming around to test new stuff. Speaking of coming around: Ronniekins is a bum bandit."  
  
"I knew it! People always suspected Charlie to be a shirtlifter, but I knew Ron had to be a Trojan horse, acting all manly and  _I-like-pussy-esque_. It was too obvious."  
  
"I just caught him and Harry playing Rumpleforeskin."  
  
"Finally! Best mates, my arse. Good for them lads."  
  
"Yeah," George said softly. "I think it's better if I go back inside, or Mum will think I've hanged myself."  
  
"George?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"They can never know."  
  
"Come on," George said, almost pleading. "It would spare Mum and Dad so much..."  
  
"They wouldn't understand. You know that. Promise me that you'll keep your mouth shut."  
  
"Please..."  
  
" _Promise_  me, George."  
  
"I promise, Fred."


End file.
